


Someone Take The Wheel

by Sarbear08



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale has a need for speed, Crowley teaches Aziraphale to drive, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, One Shot, bad car puns, this story is a wild ride, vroom vroom Aziraphale likes to go zoom zoom, wahoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 13:48:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20583512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarbear08/pseuds/Sarbear08
Summary: Crowley gets a little more than he bargained for when he agrees to teach Aziraphale how to drive.





	Someone Take The Wheel

“Dear, I’m really not sure this is a good idea,” Aziraphale said, worry laced in his voice as he shifted nervously in the driver’s seat of the Bentley.

“Angel, you promised,” Crowley whined, giving Aziraphale the most heart-wrenching pout he could muster.

“Yes, well, if there was ever a good time to break one’s promise, it would be-“

“Definitely not be right now,” Crowley said, cutting off Aziraphale.

The angel let out a blustering sigh before finally—at long last—giving in. “All right then,” he muttered.

Crowley didn’t miss the way Aziraphale’s hand shook ever so slightly as he turned the key in the ignition, making the engine of the Bentley roar to life. Nor did he miss Aziraphale’s face, uncharacteristically lacking in colour and growing paler by the second at the thought of driving.

“Are you quite all right?” Crowley asked, his voice filled with concern for his Angel. He’d never seen Aziraphale look quite so pale—not even when Satan himself had shown up at the Tadfield airbase. Perhaps it had been foolish of him to assume that teaching his Angel to drive was a good idea.

“Yes,” Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, of course,” he repeated, clearly trying to convince himself of the fact more than Crowley. “As long as you don’t play any of that bebop whilst I’m driving, I’ll be fine.”

“All right then. Tally-ho.”

“R-right,” Aziraphale stammered. He’d read every book on driving he could get his hands on. He was most certainly nothing short of well-prepared for this.

Aziraphale’s confidence—or lack thereof—did very little to instill certainty in Crowley, and he realized suddenly that it was quite possible he had made a mistake in suggesting Aziraphale to learn to drive. Perhaps God was ill when she created this part of the ineffable plan—surely she couldn’t have meant for this to happen. Crowley was seriously considering miracling them both as far away from the car as possible when he glanced over to the driver’s seat. The sight of his Angel sitting there behind the wheel of his Bentley sent a strange, unbidden—though not unwelcome—warmth spreading through his chest, in the place where his heart would be if he had one.

Such was a feeling he seemed to feel only when he saw Aziraphale. Or talked to Aziraphale. Or simply thought of Aziraphale. Because—whether Crowley knew it or not—Aziraphale was his home: more than Heaven had been, and certainly more than Hell ever was. Crowley could hardly be blamed for forgetting what home felt like. It had been upwards of six-thousand years, after all, since he’d fall–no. Not fallen so much as sauntered vaguely downwards. And so, he took no further action to dissuade Aziraphale from attempting to drive his beloved car.

The car lurched slightly before starting off down the road. Despite it being an obscure, rarely-used country road just outside of Tadfield, Crowley had made sure to miracle it free of any drivers and pedestrians who would be so unfortunate as to attempt to use the road while Aziraphale was learning to drive on it. They drove at a steady pace for a while, and Crowley was quite pleased with how well his Angel was doing. Truthfully, he would have liked to take some of the credit in Aziraphale’s success, but he knew that it was due elsewhere—the public libraries of London, for one.

“How’re you doing, Angel?”

“Tickety-boo!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “It’s not nearly as bad as I thought it would be.”

Crowley couldn’t help but smile at the look of sheer glee spread wide across Aziraphale’s face—when his Angel was happy, he was happy.

“Like to try going a tad faster?” Crowley asked.

Without offering a response, Aziraphale pressed his foot against the gas pedal and the car’s engine purred as it began to pick up speed—and continued to pick up speed until they were flying down the road at an alarmingly fast pace.

“Bloody h–what are you doing, Angel?” Crowley asked, contemplating miracling them out of the car and back to solid ground. Surely Aziraphale hadn’t meant to go this fast? Yet the car was still picking up speed—a speed even Crowley had to admit was dangerous, despite the assuredly-empty roads.

“Weee!” Aziraphale shouted, clearly enjoying himself as they careened at a break-neck speed along the country road.

“Jesus–no…_someone_ take the wheel!” Crowley screeched, clutching at the edges of his seat. “Gah–fuck!” He screamed, though his shouts were lost in the wind whipping in through the open windows of the car.

Once the initial shock of the situation left Crowley’s system, and it became apparent that Aziraphale was a much more competent driver than either of them had thought possible—and that he wasn’t planning on slowing down anytime soon—Crowley actually found that he was enjoying himself alongside his Angel.

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Aziraphale said, turning to face Crowley. “Are you having fun now, dear?”

“Eyes on the road!” Crowley shouted, his gleaming golden eyes wide and panicked.

“Ah, right. Of course,” Aziraphale said, moving his eyes forwards to look through the windshield once again. “But are you having fun, dear?”

Crowley took a breath—not that he needed to breathe, being a demon and all, but it was a comforting action nonetheless—before answering. “Yes, I am actually having fun.”

“Excellent!” Aziraphale exclaimed, clearly pleased with himself. He paused for a moment before speaking again in a tone of mock seriousness. “I’m not driving you crazy, am I, love?”

Crowley’s mouth dropped open to form the perfect shape of an ‘o.’ He was about to tell Aziraphale that it was almost certainly not even physically possible for him to annoy Crowley—not _really_ annoy him, at least—but the angel spoke again before Crowley had a chance to compose his thoughts.

“Did you see–” he started hopefully. “Because I’m driving–never mind,” he added quickly, shaking his head slightly as he returned his full attention to the road ahead of them.

Crowley tilted his head, studying Aziraphale’s expression with the intensity one usually reserves only for matters of the utmost importance. His Angel’s cheeks had become flushed with the pleasure of excitement he’d found from driving the Bentley at speeds that would otherwise be considered quite reckless.

“I do have one question though,” Crowley started, “what in the hell happened to ‘you go too fast for me, Crowley,’” he asked, doing a bad imitation of Aziraphale’s voice.

The corners of Aziraphale’s mouth twitched upwards as he tried to suppress a smile. “Perhaps fast is not that bad after all,” he replied, casting a brief sideways glance towards the passenger seat.

Crowley’s smile spread wider than he thought possible across his cheeks, and he turned, sticking his head out the window and screamed, “wahoo!” across the London countryside.


End file.
